They cannot conquer forever
by LCAAS
Summary: There is, the old stories say, a Singer by the Sea. Jack Frost has met him, once. (There are many things in the world older, greater, and more terrible than the Guardians, or even Pitch)
1. They Cannot Conquer Forever

AN: So. I watched Rise of the Guardians. And with The Hobbit so close, and re-reading Tolkien and all... Well, Maglor is apparently a really insistent muse? He basically popped up and demanded to speak to Jack. Has spoilers for RotG, but nothing too serious, I think. Inspired mostly by what happens to Sandy and also by Maglor finding it hilarious that they look to the Moon, _Rána__ the Wayward_, of all people, for guidance. Unbeta-d, so have at.

**Title: They Cannot Conquer Forever**  
**Author:** me  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** ~*~SPOILERS~*~  
**Disclaimer:** not mine!  
**Summary:** _**There is, the old stories say, a Singer by the Sea…**_

"What are you doing here, Winter's child?"

"_You said you wanted to be alone?" Pitch mocks "So BE alone!" As he breaks his staff Jack feels something inside him break and tear, driving him to his knees. He cannot even raise the slightest defence when Pitch blasts him into the mountain, unconsciousness following blessedly after._

There is a man, or something like one, crouched next to Jack as he struggles to open his eyes. Gentle calloused hands help him sit up and check him quickly for serious injuries.

"Who…?"

The smile is shadowed but kind, and the grey eyes remind Jack of the sea and the stars (they are old, so terribly old, those eyes, full of sorrow and wonder and grief. They are piercing, stripping away his defences, and Jack cannot hold their gaze).

"Just a concerned stranger, Winter's child."

_There is, the old stories say, a Singer down by the seashore. He's fay, some say, just some old madman wandering the shore. A ghost, say others, one who seeks for something he cannot have. (Both these stories are true) If you can find him, they say, he will read your deepest secrets from your eyes and tell you your future (your fate). When his voice is heard, they murmur, the very wind and waves mourn, but the children who go down to play by the sea will all come home again safely. He's never seen, only heard, a voice that laments over the water, always yearning towards the West. But whoever said the Singer was always by the Shore?_

"Baby Tooth!"

She chirrs worriedly at Jack as the stranger hands her over and sneezes. Flinching Jack pulls back a little, apologising for his natural chill, although she only shakes her head at him and snuggles closer.

"You haven't answered my question yet, Frost child." The stranger chides gently. "What are you doing down here, so far from those who need you?"

"The others? Easter! Pitch! I… I messed up… I…Pitch is right, I make a mess of everything..."

Jack shakes, cradling Baby Tooth close as she chirrs at him worriedly.

"It's all my fault…"

"There was a prince once, who took a terrible oath, for love of his father and brothers. It led him down a dark road stained with the blood of his own people, and left him alone, without even the treasure he was seeking. The things that he did, you see, were so horrible, that the very treasure he had committed those acts for rejected him, in the end. The prince, it is said, can never return home, until he has been forgiven...or perhaps until he has forgiven himself."

The stranger turns his hands palms-up, and Jack sees the pale crisscrossing scars of what must have been terrible burns, a long, long time ago, as if the stranger had grasped a flame in his right hand.

"I still cannot straighten the fingers on that hand. Nor can I forgive myself."

"You?"

"I. But listen, Winter's child, for all the pain that I caused, still, I would not change my past. Despite that my hands are stained with blood, still, I walk forwards. Do you know why? Because I have seen it, lived it, learnt this truth – even from the darkest of shadows can be born the brightest of lights. If not for the actions of my brothers and I, the Mariner would not have been able to breach the barriers of the world, would never have brought Hope back to this earth. The One, they say, draws straight with crooked lines. 'Even the wisest cannot see all ends' – who knows what might have been if you had done this, or that? Irregardless, you cannot change it, now - the only thing that you can change, Jack, is the present - what you do _now_. The only (the greatest) mistake you can make, Winter's child, is giving up."

"Look up, Winter's child, can you see? The stars still shine. 'They cannot conquer forever!', so said one who learnt well the lessons of wisdom's oft harsh school. The darkness has come to cover the earth, but only for this hour. Day will come again, _aurë entuluva_! Have faith, child of Ice. Hope still shines, and you will find that which you need. You are not alone."

And Jack looks up and sees, piercing bright and clear through the roiling clouds that cover the moon, a gleam of starlight, stark and beautiful, and feels hope spark in his heart.

_They cannot conquer forever_

Baby Tooth chirps and tugs at his memory box. Looking down, Jack sees the golden glow, a promise of a warmth he has forgotten.

"Learn your truth." The stranger says gently. "And you will find your courage. And never forget, Winter's child, that Hope endures."

Standing, the stranger tousles Jack's hair and walks away. He leaves no footprint on the snow and ice, and Jack quickly loses sight of him in the gloom. Looking back at Baby Tooth and seeing her nod, Jack takes a breath and sets a hand to his box.

_There is, the old stories say, a Singer by the Shore. He is an Exile, the last of his people, a Kinslayer and a poet. He is waiting, the truest stories say, for the Ship to take him home, for his sins to be forgiven (for him to forgive himself). There is, the stories say, one of the sons of Fëanor still wandering this earth seeking redemption, and he still comes to the aid of the lost - Jack Frost knows that this is true, because he met him, once._

AN2: Yeah, I filch liberally from Tolkien. "They cannot conquer forever" is what Frodo tells Sam, when they find the defaced statue of some long dead king in Ithilien. "Aure entuluva" is Hurin's battle cry in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, as he fought a rearguard action to safeguard Turgon's escape. "Even the wisest cannot see all ends" is obviously a Gandalf quote, from The Fellowship of the Rings. Jack looking up to see the starlight mirrors one of my favourite passages from Return of the King "There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tower high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach." And Maglor, of course, uses capitals for Hope, because he's referring to Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope.


	2. White Towers

**Title: ****White Towers****  
Author: **bookworm**  
Warnings: **crack. Seriously long winded crack.**  
Rating: **G**  
Disclaimer: **I promise no permanent harm was dealt to all characters and they were returned to their owners with minimum scarring**  
Summary: **_**There is, or so the stories say, a white tower on the moon**_

_**AN: Well uh. This is apparently what happens when you mix Silmarillion creation myth with Roverandom with Rise of the Guardians. Yep. I guess the muses figured that having the Mariner as the most absent parental figure ever might explain why MiM thinks its ok to leave Jack alone with just his name for 300 years?**_

_There is, or so the stories say, a white tower on the moon, where the Man in the Moon lives. From there, they say, he can keep watch on everything that happens on the earth below with his magic telescopes, and send aid to those who need it. There is, though no mortal eyes have seen it, another tower, white and fair, that stands by the edge of the Sundering Seas, where the seabirds welcome the Evening Star to anchor. _

Long, long ago, so long that few now remember it, the Man in the Moon was no man, but only a young boy. Long, long ago, there was war in the heavens, and the Nightmare King tore down the Lunanoff Kingdom, and destroyed its people, leaving only one child behind.

_History becomes Legend, Legend becomes Myth, and Myth eventually becomes forgotten… but… it only ever takes a single child who believes._

When Tsar Lunar was still a Prince, only just a boy, he was in a most terrible war. This is what he remembers.

"Take him, my love, and hide!"

"Papa, papa! Don't go!"

"Come now, Lunar, you must be brave. Your papa will have an easier time of it, if he knows that you are safe. Hush now, my brave boy. See, I will be right outside. Mama won't let anything happen to you."

"Mama, I'm afraid!"

"Shh, shh, don't cry, my dear. See look, I will leave you with Nightlight. No harm will come to you so long as he is here. Don't forget, a Nightlight is a mother's eyes that she leaves behind to guard her children. Hush now, my darling and fear not the shadows."

Lunar remembers the screams, and the shadows, and his mother weeping. He remembers the noise and the tossing as the Moon Clipper crashes, the last hope of the Kingdom brought low. He remembers the shouting and the horrible noises, and then the terrible silence, and seeing his mama's eyes go blank and unseeing. He remembers knowing, with an awful creeping certainty, that he will never hear his papa's voice again, nor see his mama's smile. And he remembers the Nightmare King and his yellow eyes.

"Well now, what have we here?"

The Nightmare King's voice is low and silky, smooth and cold as death, and the Fearlings are laughing. Nightlight stands bravely before his charge, but his light is faint and faltering. They are only children, and Pitch can taste their fear.

"Away from them, dark ones!"

The stranger is light in the darkness, hope from despair. His blade is a flame, his clothes gleam with diamond dust, and there is a star on his brow. Screaming their anger, the shadows fall back before him. Pitch snarls and gnashes his teeth, but even he is forced back. His companion kneels and comforts them, shining moon-pale, and Nightlight's own light finds itself strengthened in its gleam.

"They have endured much, old friend." The bright warrior has gentle eyes which remind Lunar of the sea – grey and storm tossed, at once both kind and fierce.

"And will endure more, child. Will you aid them?" The other is something older and greater, and despite his gentleness Lunar knows instinctively that he is the more terrible. He gleams cold and pale in the dim lights of the crashed ship but his smile, too, is gentle.

"_Valar valuvar_." The Mariner (for it is indeed he) agrees and offers them his hands. "My lady is often lonely, and would welcome the company if you will it. Will you come away with me for a while?"

With nothing left for them on the ship, both Nightlight and Lunar agree. And so it is that they arrive with the dawn, to a white tower at the edge of the sea, and a great silvery grey gull flies to meet them. As it nears the ship it becomes a lady, fair and gracious, and the Mariner greets her with a kiss.

"Who are these you bring with you my lord?"

"Orphans, _vanimelda_. The last survivors of the War with the Nightmare King."

"Ah" she sighs, and it is as if she has wept until she has no more tears. "It is always the children who suffer." Kneeling she opens her arms to them, and Lunar thinks that no lady so fair should look so sad. "I grieve with thee, young ones. I am alone, and my children are lost to me, but I would welcome you here, for as long as you need. Mayhap you can find rest here, for a time."

Looking at her, Prince Lunar decides, in that childishly earnest way of the young, that he wants, most of all, to see her smile truly. So he steps out of the Mariner's shadow, and with Nightlight beside him he leaves behind his past and runs into the lady's arms, and together they mourn the loss of everything he has ever known. Lunar will never remember how long he spends there, in the tower by the sea, in that fair land that Time passes by. The Lady slowly smiles a little more readily, and looks a little less sad, and Lunar finds that he enjoys seeing her smile. She is not his mama, and the Mariner is not his papa, but they care for him as best they can, and slowly the cracks in his heart begin to mend. The Lady teaches him to speak to birds, and he becomes very fond of the great sea gulls that taught her to fly. Sadly, Lunar never manages the trick, although Nightlight does, and for a time the white gull that flies to meet the ship has a companion, small and flickering, faint but true. The Mariner isn't often home, but when he is he teaches Lunar how to tie sailor's knots and reef the sails on his silver ship. _Oh_, the ship, the Ship. Both Lunar and Nightlight's favourite times of all are those rare occasions they are allowed on the Ship. Fair and marvellous she is, all silver and light, filled with a clear flame. Under the Mariner's hand she sails true even through the pathless void, but he refuses to bring them with him when he goes.

"Not yet."

_Not yet_, for Pitch and his Fearlings are still around. _Not yet_, for neither Nightlight nor Prince Lunar are strong enough to face him. Not yet…but one day.

Slowly they grow stronger, and gradually restless, and one day, Lunar looks at Nightlight, and he is no longer the Prince, but now the last Tsar of a fallen kingdom, and they know that their time is up. Now that they are ready, Tillion comes for them himself, and for the first time they are permitted to sail with the Mariner on his journey. The Lady weeps gently, and kisses them goodbye – they were, even from the beginning, never hers to keep – but she may not venture the cold void with her lord, and so farewells them from deck of the Ship. As Vingilot leaps glimmering through the Doors of Night, and the moon rises to greet them, Lunar and Nightlight find that the night is not so scary after all. The Moon Clipper is destroyed, but from her ruins a tower has been built, high upon the tallest mountain. It shimmers as if were built of millions of seashells still wet with foam and gleaming, white and pink and pale green. Nightlight is gifted with a new weapon, a blade of moonlight and crystal, gleaming pale and diamond hard. The Mariner gives Lunar a warriors clasp, as one Lord to another, and bids him farewell, and Tillion smiles on them in benediction, before fading back into moonbeams. It is time for the last Tsar to take up his parents' war.

_There is, or so the stories say, a white tower on the moon where the Man in the Moon makes his home. From there he can look across the earth and bring aid to those who need it. But sometimes, sometimes, he looks up to the stars instead, searching for Hope, and the white gull who flies to meet him in the sunrise_.

_**"Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowed, the looked for that cometh at unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope!" JRR Tolkien, The Silmarillion**_

_**AN2:**_

1. YES I QUOTED THE MOVIE TOO  
2. "Valar valuvar" means "As the Valar will it so" and is an attested oath in Tolkien's world. "Vanimelda" means "My beloved"  
3. The descriptions of Earendil & Vingilot are lifted essentially wholesale from the book hence "Now fair and marvelous was that vessel made, and it was filled with a wavering flame, pure and bright; and Earendil the Mariner sat at the helm, glistening with the dust of elven-gems, and the Silmaril was bound upon his brow."  
4. Tillion was the name of the Maia assigned to guard the moon - I figure like most Maia he was mostly an insubstanial presence, there but not, helping out when possible & mostly in subtle ways.  
5. The white tower by the sea is Elwing's tower - Elwing, who took the form a seabird & learnt their tongue, but who could not follow Earendil on his voyages through the void.  
6. the OTHER white tower is in Roverandom, and the description is almost word-for-word  
7. Yes, I gave Nightlight an elf-forged blade. Look, the thing pierces Pitch's heart (or what passes for one) and holds him for centuries. I figured, what better than a Valar-and-Maia-blessed blade, forged in Valinor itself?  
8. Oh and the line about Nightlights comes from JM Barrie's Peter Pan. Yep.


	3. Eala Earendel

AN1: And now we come to the Christmas one. No specific characters in this one, but let's just say, North needs to know what real Elves look like =D

**Title**:**Eala Earendel Engla Beorhtast  
****Rating**: G  
**Author:** bookworm  
**Warnings:** Christian themes. I can hardly help it! (you think this one is bad, wait til you get to BUNNY'S)  
**Disclaimer:** I still own nothing but the idea  
**Summary**: _**Long ago, the stories say, Elves were not the diminutive creatures of today, but beings great and wonderful, perilous and fair.**_

Long ago, the stories say, Elves were not the diminutive creatures of today, but beings great and wonderful. But they have faded, as the magic has gone out of the world, passing into myth and dream. Maybe, the stories say, if fortune favours you, you might still encounter them beneath the stars, as they wander in the woods, but even then they were leaving these shores. Who knows if any now remain on this side of the Sundering Seas?

It is Christmas, and North is busy delivering presents to the children of Warwick when he hears it, clear voices rising and falling faintly through the starlit air.

_The Gold and Frankincense and Myrrh__  
__For King, for Priest, for digne Martyr.__  
__ Hail Earendel__  
__ God-love be with us!__  
__Upon the great Good Friday morn__  
__Is't Crown of Gold or Crown of Thorn?__  
__ God-love be with us,__  
__ Hail Earendel!_

He thinks it is carollers, at first, and wonders who would be out and about so late. Despite his hurry, the voices are surpassingly lovely, and he finds himself relaxing, enjoying the melody that rings faint but true through the frosty air (Jack has been busy, he sees). He is on time, after all, and there is no harm in appreciating beauty. Curiously, the singers seem to be fairly far away from town, and moving away from it. Perhaps, he wonders idly, they are some friends going out to camp in the nearby woods? But why so late at night? Perhaps…he is on time, after all. It would not hurt, he decides, if he makes just a quick detour, just to make sure that nothing untoward is going on. It would be a shame, he argues with himself, to let such singers go unrewarded, believers or no. And he is curious, the hymn is old (ancient, even), and never sung these days, and there is something…

North is surprisingly quick and quiet, for one of his girth (he has had long years to practice), and so it is a moments work to slip away from the homes and move out into the woods searching. It has been a long time since he was a bandit, but his skills are still sharp. Even so, to his surprise there are no tracks to be found, and the snow remains as pure as when Jack must have first laid it. Indeed, he has almost given up when he hears them again – this time a single voice ringing clear above the others.

_Hail Earendel, brightest of angels,  
over middle-earth to men sent!  
and true radiance of the Sun  
bright above the stars, every season  
thou of thyself ever illuminest!_

Struck dumb, North can only stand and stare in wonder. Through the trees he sees them, a glimmer of light about them, like the light of the moon above the rim of the hills before it rises. Tall and fair they are, with the starlight in their eyes, and the moonlight in their hair, and voices surpassingly lovely. Silent now, they pass, leaving no mark on the snow as they go, their spears silvered with white flame and their pale robes catching the long radiance of the moon. Even as he watches, they pass through a gap in the trees over a bridge, and he sees distantly, towards grey walls and a strong gate. And then they are gone.

_They are gone. Like strands of wind, like mystic half-transparencies. A music of forgotten feet, a gleam of leaves, a sudden bending of the grass, and wistful voices murmuring._

Long ago, the stories say, Elves were not the diminutive creatures of today, but beings great and wonderful, perilous and fair. But they have faded, as the magic has gone out of the world, passing into myth and dream, leaving behind only the memory of their passing and the crude remains of their legacy as remembered by the sons of Man. Maybe, the stories say, if fortune favours you, you might still encounter them beneath the stars, as they wander in the woods, the last echoes of a once-great people, those few who loved this earth too much to leave. North knows that this is true, because he has seen them, once.

**AN2:**

_1. I specifically used Warwick, because this little town was one that Tolkien loved dearly, and was the inspiration for much of his work, specifically **'Kortirion amongst the Trees**'_  
_2. The first verse is from "**The Carol of the Star**" (sometimes called "**They came Three Kings who rode a-pace**"), a very very old hymn (1911, I believe) which is itself based on…_  
_3. This one is translated from "**Chris**t" by Cynewulf (circa 750 AD), and is Tolkien's attested basis for his Eärendil – the title, you might notice, sounds hauntingly familiar to Frodo's declaration in Shelob's lair – "Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!". The lines from the poem run:** éala éarendel engla beorhtast / ofer middangeard monnum sended /and sodfasta sunnan leoma / tohrt ofer tunglas þu tida gehvane / of sylfum þe symle inlihtes** and I have taken the translation from Wikipaedia. Earendel, apparently, is a romantic name for the Star of Bethleham!_  
_4. The way North sees them is, of course, reminiscent of how Frodo, Sam & Pippin meet one of the Wandering Companies in the Woody End on their journey. I combined it with bits taken from Tolkien's various versions of "**Kortirion amongst the Tree**s", and that last bit is lifted essentially straight._  
_5. I dunno which Wandering Company North found, but Tolkien says that some of the Eldar refused the summons West for love of the land, and so might linger still, a fading people. Indeed, "**Kortirion amongst the Trees**" specifically addresses this, although it is much earlier in the legendarium, where he talks of Gilfanon, Lord of Tavrobel, who rides still to hunt. On the other hand, I really can't see Thranduil's folk leaving (they were mostly Silvan elves, after all, who numbered Avari amongst them), and their home too, is reached by crossing a slender bridge into mountain caves, so maybe North surprised some of the Greenwood folk on their way home._


	4. House of Play

This turned surprisingly odd. Uh. I suppose it happens when your main character is mute...

**Title**:**House of Play**

**Author:** bookworm

**Warnings**: none

**Disclaimer**: not mine!

**Summary**: _**Long ago there was a path that led from the world of dreams to a cottage thatched with gold**_

_Long ago, when the world of Men was closer to that of Faerie, it was said that there was a path that might be found, that led from the world of dreams to a cottage thatched with gold and surrounded by flowers irregardless of season, where the children might play in safety. That road is closed now, and none can find it. Or so the stories say._

The Sandman is old, and has seen much in his time, but even now, he finds joy in the simple things. He has a castle, or so they say, where the mermaids play upon the shores, all built of golden dreamsand, but no-one save the Man in the Moon knows from whence the golden sand comes. If you can find his castle, maybe, and sail west from his shores, if you can dodge the mermaids and the Enchantment of those shadowy islands, maybe, _perhaps_, you might glimpse a green isle on silver seas. If the Sandman knows the name of the island, he has never told, but the sands on the shore there glimmer gold. And if you know the way from there, perhaps you might find it, the small gate that leads to the green path, and thence, past the glow-worms and the whispering trees, you might come at last to a garden. In that garden the flowers are always blooming, and the sea sings along golden sands. In its center is a cottage, its white walls shining gently and its windows warm and welcoming, and the thatching gleams with a golden light. Once, there were children playing here, and you might still hear the echoes of their laughter. Now only the Lord and Lady who built this place remain, guarding still this most precious of dreams.

Long, long ago, when the Sandman was new come to his job, he heard a voice singing, low and infinitely sad by the sea, and found a lonely wanderer who never slept for fear of his dreams. His job is to care for the children, but the Wanderer is so terribly sad and alone that he cannot help but linger near. He cannot touch the Wanderer's dreams, filled as they are with death and fire and shadow inescapable, for memories are not his department. But he learnt from the songs and the stories the names of things and places long forgotten, and treasured them in his heart. The Wanderer remembers, and so the Sandman learns, the secret paths and hidden doorways that the world has now forgotten. His dreams held both the beauty and the terror of a time long past, when Magic was both less and more than now, and from him the Sandman learns to build his own grand tales, to feed the dreams and imagination of the children so they do not forget what is worth fighting for.

Long ago, when the world of Men was closer to that of Faerie, it was said that there was a path that might be found, that led from the world of dreams to a cottage thatched with gold. That road is closed now, and none know where it once lay, but on the outermost edge of the Sundering Seas is a golden castle made of the sand that washes ashore from across the shadowy seas. There is still a path, for those who have the eyes to find it, that leads to a little house of play, founded by the Lord of Dreams and blessed by the Lady of Rest, and the Sandman knows the way.

_The air was neither night nor day,_

_an ever-eve of gloaming light,_

_when first there glimmered into sight_

_the Little House of Play._

_New-built it was, yet very old,_

_white, and thatched with straws of gold,_

_and pierced with peeping lattices_

_that looked toward the sea;_

_- JRR Tolkien_

_**AN**_:

1. So I really really love the poem "You and Me/Little House of Play"

2. The Lord of Dreams is Irmo, who is often called Lorien, though that is rightfully his dwelling. The Lady of Rest is Este, who sleeps on an island in the middle of Lorien. And yes, I am indeed implying that Sandy is on speaking terms with at least two of the Powers of the World.

3. The Wanderer is Maglor. Again. And no, he cannot have good dreams ever - he's Feanorion, after all, anything good he touches will eventually turn sour, that's the nature of the curse.

4. the Enchanted Isles were, at one point, a chain of islands between Valinor and Middle Earth designed to protect the shores - the seas were filled with mists and to step ashore was to fall into eternal sleep

5. the "green isle on silver seas" is obviously Tol Eressea, the Lonely Island

6. watch all this become non canon when the fourth book comes out.


	5. Of Fear

**AN: oh dear but this turned long. *goes off to try & write something a bit more cheerful***

**Title: ****Of Fear****  
Author: **bookworm**  
Warnings: **sliiiight spoilers for the end of the RoTG. Also general attempts to write creepy (which may or may not succeed). Ah, and ever so small book spoilers re: Pitch's past**  
Rating: **G (probably edging into PG)**  
Disclaimer: **still not mine**  
Summary: **_**There are many things in the world far older and more dangerous than the Nightmare King**_**  
**

"_Looks like it's YOUR fear they smell"_

For the longest time after that, all Pitch knows is the dark and the fear, and _bitebitebite_ of the Fearlings as they twist inside him. _FAILED US_! They scream and tear at him, and it takes everything he has to remember even his name.

_Fear, in and of itself, is not evil, as Pitch remembers when he is in control. Fear teaches caution, and ensures survival. In his own way, Pitch is himself a guardian. But fear is not loved, and sometimes Pitch forgets. There are many things in the world far older and more dangerous than the Nightmare King._

Unexpectedly, there is light, in the darkness. The faintest gleam of firelight, maybe, a small flame that is nonetheless unquenched. The fearlings twist and gnaw at him, dragging and holding him down, but there is a part of Pitch that refuses, always, to simply lay back and give in and that part claws upwards towards the light. (He has, some part of him thinks, done this before, has he not?) He is not entirely sure why, only that he is _Pitch Black_, and he will _not_ be a slave to his own shadows!

The next time Pitch remembers who he is, he is lying in his underground tunnels, and there is an old man (or what looks like one) smoking a pipe next to him. His nightmares pace uneasily around him, giving them both a decent berth.

"Ah, General Pitchiner! Awake at last."

"Don't call me that" Pitch hisses automatically. "What are you doing here?"

"Now, now, there's no need to get upset" Merry eyes twinkle at him from beneath long bushy eyebrows, and the coals of the pipe glow warmly. "Can I not visit an old friend?"

"You are no friend of mine." The denial comes without thinking, but Pitch cannot hide the ever-so-slight loosening of his shoulders.

"Aquaintance then," the old man agrees amiably, blowing out a smoke ring. "You've been busy."

"And if I have?" Pitch pulls himself upright with a huff and glares at the nightmares until they back off. He is not feeling terribly charitable at the moment. "Are you my jailer now?"

A raised eyebrow is his only answer.

"Yes, yes, I might have gotten carried away, but you can hardly blame me for that!" Pitch rises to pace, refusing to meet a far too knowing gaze, even hidden as it is behind smoke. "And put that thing out!"

"There are lines it is dangerous to cross, Pitch Black. I would have thought you, of all folk, would remember that."

Back stiffening, Pitch cannot help but remember.

_There is a place in the forest where even the animals do not go. It might have been a clearing once, but the forest has overtaken it, years and years ago._ Fear hangs like a shroud over it, so of course, Pitch knows where it is, although he does not venture there. There is a village, by the edge of the forest, and although times are hard, children will be children, and Pitch has plenty of work. Sometimes, the young men dare each other to visit the forest, and once, Pitch decides not to stop them. They laugh and tease and drink to bolster their courage, but as they venture further in, and the darkness and mist rises, the laughter becomes more nervous. Pitch revels in their fear, and follows them from the shadows. They are too old to believe in him, but fear is fear, and theirs is delicious. _He should tell them to turn back, but he does not_. The forest is old, and the trees dense, blocking out the sunlight, so when they come suddenly to two huge stones leaning on each other like some old doorway, it catches them by surprise. Nervous, the young men stand and chivy each other to go first, and eventually, buoyed by liquid courage and the presence of their pears, three of them dare the threshold. _Pitch should terrify them now, and mock as they run back, but he does not_. When nothing happens, the others laugh, and encouraged, two more cross into the gloom of the doorway. Only one heads the warning prickle of danger, and shaking his head turns to go home, to the jeers of his fellows. When he turns to look back, the mists have already swallowed his friends. He will be the only one to return to the village, and he will never learn what happens… but Pitch will never forget.

Laughing, the five who are left venture further, and Pitch follows them. The further they go, the deeper the fog, and before long they are stumbling, lost, and unable to see each other, and now the fear returns. Pitch follows them, and laughs as they call to each other, trying to find their way. _He should chase them out, but he does not. _The space between the trees should not be so vast, but as they stumble through the fog, it seems to widen, and they find themselves further and further apart, voices vanishing into the thick mists that cover them. Pitch finds himself standing by one, as he calls and calls, and hears no answer. His fear is now thick and choking, and Pitch himself is becoming worried – he can no longer sense the others. There is a cold light to the fog now, that lends an eerie cast to the boy's (and he is only a boy, just on the cusp on manhood) face as he calls. And then there is the sound that Pitch will remember until he fades – a voice deep and cold, that seemed to rise from the very ground, a cold murmur, rising and falling, in a formless stream of horrible sounds. If you listen, very closely, almost, it seems to be words – grim, cold, heartless words, that chill the very soul. With a cry, the boy turns to flee, and a shadow seems to rise in his path and engulf him, darker than night, colder than winter, with two pale lights like eyes, lit from some unfathomable distance. Pitch finds himself frozen, unable to flee, pinned as surely as a mouse before a snake, as some old forgotten menace of a world long dead turns the full weight of its gaze upon him. The will in that gaze is stronger than steel, older than the mountains, cold and terrible… and _hungry_. Even the Fearlings are silent, cowering before this nameless terror, and Pitch realises, with terrible certainty, that it wants _him_. That it will take him, and freeze him to his very marrow, and drag him down to whatever pit it came from. That it will feast on him, body and soul, drain him dry and then do it all over again _simply because it can_… and that, at last, is enough to make him move. Stumbling he falls backward and tries to raise a defence, but the shadows refuse him, fleeing from the cold light that reaches for him, gleaming like a pale blade in a shadowy hand. He will never remember calling out for aid, later, but Pitch cannot deny that he must have done so, after.

"Enough!" There is light, a flame, between him and the darkness. "You have your prey, servant of darkness. This one is not for you. Go back to the shadow!"

The darkness seems to laugh, and Pitch hears without hearing a voice which is not a voice at all, but the very gasping of the grave. "Come not between me and my prey, old fool, he has failed in his duty and is rightfully mine."

"He called for help, and help he has been granted. He is not for you. Go back!"

The shadow rises great and menacing, and the light seems small before it, but even as Pitch watches the winds are rising and the fog lifting, and the starlight piercing the mist makes the dark shape seem small and faint, and the flame burns unconquered as the shadow passes. Where it stood is left the figure of the last boy, pale and still, and the flame leans over him, dwindling to a man, seemingly, who closes his eyes, oh so gently.

"Poor boy, this was too great a trial for him, in the end." The tone is gentle, but Pitch flinches from the condemnation implicit in it all the same. Pitch's job is fear, and fear is meant to teach caution and he has failed these five.

"Can nothing be done?"

"Not on these shores." The stranger stands, lifting the boy in his arms. Old he seems, and venerable as a king, and yet young, also, with power in his hand and keen eyes that look swift to laughter. "You have failed in your duty, Pitch Black." He is gentle, but inexorable, and Pitch fears him, in an entirely different sense to the Shadow. "Let them be a reminder to you of the cost of duty."

"Duty?" Pitch snarls, pushing fear aside for anger. "How dare you speak to me of duty! What can one such as you know of me? Lunar appoints others to chase away the darkness, and I go unwanted! I, who sacrificed so much! I, who have been here through all these ages! And now they ignore me, saying I am no more than a bad dream, I, who have guarded mankind from their own follies!"

"Have a care Pitch Black!" Sharp eyes flash with sudden temper beneath bristling brows, terrible as a gathering storm, only to fade just as swiftly. "Last line of defence you may think yourself, but alone you have never been, save that you make yourself. All worthy things that are in peril are in my care, and under the One's purview. Whether you acknowledge it or no, that includes _you_. Did you think yourself the only guardian? There are many things in this world, Pitch Black, that are far beyond you – you met some of them, today. If you have walked all these years with closed ears and mind asleep, wake up now!" Gentling, he adds "Set aside your pride. You have only ever needed to _ask_. Now, time is wasting, and I must take this child from here."

Turning the stranger moves to leave, the boy in his arms, and Pitch, shaken, calls after him. "Who are you, then? Where are you taking him?"

A laugh, bubbling up from some deep fountain of joy answers him "Many names I have, both those given to me and those earned. In my youth at the dawn of time they called me Olorin, but men named me Gandalf, and Gandalf means me. And I am taking the boy to those who can heal him."

Surfacing from the memory, Pitch shakes his head, and refuses to meet the knowing gaze of his visitor.

"I have not forgotten."

"Hm. No, I did not think you had. But desperation, Pitch Black, is a false mistress. I told you once, to lay aside your pride."

"And go crawling to the Guardians?" Pitch's tone is bitter. "They would never have accepted me before, what makes you think they will accept me now?"

"As you say, and so you deem. But I say to you, fell deeds have been done here this day, but let the enmity between you and them be put away, for it is a contrivance of the Enemy, and you are ill served by allowing yourself to be caught in it. It may be long before you can sit and sup at a table with them, but you forget that your duty, in the end, is the same as theirs. They too, begin to recognise the sting of their pride and what it has cost them. You may never be friends, Pitch Black, but you need not be so alone."

"And you make it sound as if it would be _so_ easy"

"I did not say that. But will you not try? Despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. You were a hero, once, long before."

"That man died a long, long time ago."

"Perhaps he did, and perhaps he didn't. You have tried the path of force, and it has availed you nothing. Will you not seek for a different road?"

"And if I do not? Will you banish me too?"

"You know better than that my friend. I am only trying to _help_ you. In the end, the choice remains yours, as it has always been. It is not given to me to change the weather of this world, only to aid its wanderers to pass through its storms."

"Pretty words, which mean in the end – you are the only one who can help yourself!"

"And if you think that, Pitch Black, than you have heard nothing of what I have said to you over these long years! It is wisdom to recognize necessity when all other courses have been weighed. Still! I see that you are unwilling to listen. I can but hope that my words make some impact. I must be off, you are not the only one I must stop in with."

Pitch huffs and refuses to look back, resolutely denying the gratefulness for the company that threatens to leave his lips until he is sure his visitor is gone. The smell of pipeweed lingers long in his tunnels afterwards, although Pitch will deny that he finds it comforting.

_There are many things in the world far older and greater than the Nightmare King – some are terrors from the deepest shadows, but some are guardians too. Pitch Black knows this, because one has ever come to comfort him, whenever he is lowest._

_**AN: Let's play count-the-Tolkien quotes & direct references… **_

1. Yes, Pitch has the misfortune to run into a Barrow Wight. I wanted something nastier, but I imagine most of those are well out of the way of any human habitation… also a Balrog or a Watcher is rather difficult to remove, even by one of the Maia. A lot of the description of the wight, and the fog, and the stones, are taken from Frodo's encounter in the Barrow Downs.

2. I base Pitch here a lot on rufftoon's prequel comics…and of course, there are ~*~spoilers~*~ for his Book past

3. I associate flame with Gandalf because he wore Narya, the Ring of Fire (remember, he names himself "servant of the secret flame"). Interestingly, when he was Olorin, the Maia, he was associated with Irmo, Lord of Dreams, and Nienna, who weeps for the hurts of the world. And the specific properties of Narya? To "rekindle hearts in a world gone chill" – rather fitting for someone trying to encourage Pitch no?

4. Haha, loads and loads of the conversation with Pitch are taken from bits of the books sob – "all worthy things in peril" is from Gandalf's talk with Denethor, where he tells him "I too, am a Steward" – here, he uses guardian, because it's what Pitch is familiar with. "If you have walked with closed ears" is what he says to Pippin, warning him to be careful speaking to Denethor. "Gandalf means me" is how he introduces himself to Bilbo. "Fell deeds have been done this day" references how Beregond slew the guards at the Hollows to get to Faramir before Denethor could kill him. The line about despair is from when Gandalf urges the Council to destroy the Ring, as is the line about recognising necessity. And you may notice I keep using the line about many things being older etc – That one is from when they enter Moria, altered somewhat.


	6. In Memory of Song

**Title: ****In Memory of Song  
****Author: **_bookworm_**  
Rating: **G  
**Warnings:** small spoilers for Tooth's book past**  
Disclaimer: ** nope, still own nothing**  
Summary: **_**The best way to preserve a memory is to turn it into a Story. Toothiana learnt this, long ago, from a song.**_

_Long ago, when the sun was but newly risen in the sky, there was a maiden, the fairest to ever grace the lands, who loved best to dance beneath the stars. She had a companion, it was said, a minstrel of surpassing skill, who loved her, and composed music for her to dance to. Alas, she loved another, and in the end he was left alone, wandering through the fading twilight and keeping her memory alive in his song. There once were, it was said, three bards before whom all others pale – three who could conjure visions and create enchantment simply by the skill of their hands and the sound of their voice. Of those three, one comes not into mortal tales, and has passed out of all knowledge. One wanders by the sea, lost in regret, his voice raised only in lamentation and grief. The last, and the greatest of the three, it is said, wanders still through the twilight, singing of a maiden so fair that Death himself paused before her, and perhaps if you listen, you might hear him, still. _

Toothiana collects teeth to preserve the memories of childhood, those precious things that teach a child what is important. But there are other ways too, to preserve memories. There is a room, deep in the Tooth Palace, where she keeps them, memories preserved in ink and leather, in wrought steel or forged iron, in crystal and gold and stone… But her favourite is not kept even there, in this most secret of vaults. The best way to preserve a memory you see, is to turn it into a Story. The best stories, after all, are told, and retold, and even if they change their detail, their shape will stay the same, and so long as someone still tells them, they will never fade. She learnt this, long ago, from a song.

She is young, the first time she hears the Song, and the memories of her lost family are still sometimes overwhelming. Punjam Hy Loo is beautiful, grand and magical, but it is also _empty_, and sometimes she simply cannot bear it. She flies, as fast as she can, and pays no attention to where she is going. When she stops, exhausted, it is getting dark, she is thoroughly lost, and the moon has not yet risen. The forest rises about her, dark and close, so different from the lush dense green of her native land. High above, the first stars have begun to come out, peeping shyly through the twilight clouds. _This is magic time, moth and shadow time, that space in-between day and night_. Into the grey light, she hears a voice singing, in a language that she does not know. Puzzled, for she had thought she knew every language there was to learn, she rises to weary feet and follows it. As she listens, it seems the words shape themselves for her and she is drawn into their waking dream.

_She is a warrior, tired and weary, and the way has been long and hard. The grass underfoot is soft and green, the wind in the trees comforting, and ahead there is a glimpse of light, the flicker of a shadowed star. Gay and sweet ring the tunes of some unseen piper, and behold, a maiden, a child of the stars dances in the glade, surely the most beautiful to ever grace this earth, and she is arrested by her beauty. A moment she is there, and then she is gone, dancing to her unseen musician's song, no more than a glimpse of moonbeams through the shadows, leading a chase through the tall trees. She chases, and weariness falls from her, but never more than a glimpse does she see._

Abruptly, the trees give way for more open lands, and as the song fades and Toothiana blinks the enchantment from her eyes, she realises she has been led out of the woods and she now knows where she is. High above, the moon seems to laugh at her confusion, as she slowly winds her way home. Over the years, she sometimes hears it, the distant sound of a pipe, or the snatches of a song, always when she is at her lowest, when the loneliness of being _last_ seems too great and she has fled back to the forest where she first got lost. Each time, the story becomes a little clearer, the enchantment a little more real.

_There is a maiden, and a man, and the minstrel who had played for her, consumed by jealousy opens the door for tragedy, and tells the king of the thief who would steal his greatest treasure. The king demands of the man a weregild that will lead to his death, and his daughter defies him to go after her beloved and aid him. _

Each time, she learns a little more of the language – it is old, this tongue, old beyond reckoning, and she hears only bits at a time. It is sad and musical, and carries the sound of the twilight.

_There are three jewels, the most wonderful creations of light, and there is war over who will possess them. Kin kills kin, and the Nameless Foe seeks to cover the world with his darkness. In his great crown the Dark Lord sets the jewels that he stole, and a man comes to claim them for the sake of his beloved._

Slowly, she begins to understand that this is not _just_ a story she hears, but a _history_ – a memory that has been all but forgotten by all save the singer, and now, herself.

_There is a father and his seven sons, who swear a most terrible oath to reclaim their stolen jewels and leave paradise stained with the blood of their kin. There is a king, who in a kingdom girded by his wife's magic, guards his people and his most priceless treasure – his daughter. There is a man, who for love would risk everything, even storming the very throne of the Dark Enemy. There is a maiden, who for love would pass even into death to rescue her beloved. There is a curse, that follows the jewels, and those who would claim them, and the king has forfeited his wife's protection. _

She is increasingly busy, and increasingly scattered, sending her selves out and finding less and less time to simply _stop_. So she learns to value these times, simply sitting and learning more. The story spans centuries, tangling many lives in its webs – it brings her hope, and moves her to tears of grief. It tells of tragedy, of betrayal and death and terror inescapable. It tells of love and joy, of courage and honour, and the ability of even the smallest to change fate. It reminds her that morning always comes, and sacrifice is worth it. It warns that Shadow will always return and that those who love peace must learn also to fight for it. And always, it teaches her, value those close to you, because one day they might be gone forever.

_Because together they are stronger than alone, the man and the maiden face the Dark Lord, and win a jewel from his crown. Alas, the curse follows even them, and the man dies. Weeping the maiden stands before Death and sings for him the story of their love. So moved is he that Death releases the man. For a while then, they are together, but eventually they pass from this world and into the next, and the minstrel is left to wander alone, lamenting lost chances, and keeping alive their memory._

Eventually, as stories always do, it ends and the last note is sung, and for the first time, Tooth sees her mysterious singer as he lays aside his instrument and steps out of the shadows. Shyly, and because any such gift should be returned, she offers him a song of her own – her own story, this time, in his own language, and is rewarded with a smile. Picking up his pipe, the minstrel listens to her song, and then joins in, and together they weave her own memories into music.

_There once were, it was said, three bards before whom all others pale – three who could conjure visions and create enchantment simply by the skill of their hands and the sound of their voice. The last, and the greatest of the three, it is said, wanders still through the twilight turning his memories into song. The best way to preserve a memory after all, is to turn it into a Story. Tooth learnt this, long ago, from a Song._

**AN: …*gives up on her brain making sense ever***

1. So guys, say hi to Daeron of Doriath. Yep. The three great bards of Elvendom, as referred to in the Lay of Leithian (which is the song that Tooth is listening to), are Tinfang Gelion, Maglor and Daeron – the lines in the Canto run: _Tingfang Gelion who still the moon/enchants on summer nights of June/and kindles the pale firstling star;/and he who harps upon the far/forgotten beaches and dark shores/where western foam forever roars/Maglor whose voice is like the sea;/and Dairon, mightiest of three_. Daeron loved Luthien, and composed music specifically for her to dance to. He was said to be a great linguist and was responsible for inventing the Cirth alphabet the dwarves use (…which, I guess, is why he wanted to meet Tooth, who is also something of a linguist). When Luthien chose Beren, he reported them to Thingol, and he betrayed her again when he learnt she was going to follow him. When she left anyway he followed her in regret. He neither found her nor returned to Doriath, and lore tells us he wandered Eastwards (look, towards Asia! Where Tooth is!) and was never seen again.

2. As mentioned, the song Tooth hears is the Lay of Leithian (Release from Bondage), which tells the story of Beren and Luthien, and their quest for the Silmarils. In-canon, it is said to be the second longest of all the Elvish Lays (the only one longer is the tale of Turin and Nienor), presumably written by Daeron. In reality, it is a 14 canto long unfinished poem in iambic pentameter (Tolkien only manages to get to the fight with Carcharoth). It is all sorts of beautiful (especially when you remember that Tolkien considered his wife Edith to be Luthien, making himself Beren), and I love it. Go read it. Or read the prose version.

3. The language that Daeron sings in, and thus that Tooth learns, is Doriathian, a dialect of Sindarin. Tooth, it is said, can speak every language, but I figure one that is essentially extinct (since I seriously doubt that anyone except Daeron speaks it – Doriath, after all, was literally wiped off the map very early on) is fair game.

4. Yes I basically summarise the whole of the Lay. In bit & pieces and I leave huge chunks out, but this was already getting too long.

5. … the muse insists that one of the things that Tooth keeps in that "most secret vault" is the Red Book of Westmarch. How Tolkien gets ahold of it to translate the muse is rather less than forthcoming on.


	7. Where Hope and Despair are Akin

**Title: ****Where Hope and Despair are akin**

**Author:** bookworm

**Warnings:** strong Christian themes ok, I did warn you. Briefly touched on Bunny's book past. Also mentions of war and death and associated messiness

**Rating:** ...I'd count this as G still I think

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. My thanks go to GothicChesire, who let me bounce ideas in PM until this solidified.

**Summary:** **_What is hope?_**

_"Have ye then no hope?" said Finrod._

_"What is hope?" she said. "An expectation of good, which though uncertain has some foundation in what is known? Then we have none."_

_"That is one thing that Men call 'hope'," said Finrod. "__**Amdir**__ we call it, 'looking up'. But there is another which is founded deeper. __**Estel**__ we call it, that is "trust". It is not defeated by the ways of the world, for it does not come from experience, but from our nature and first being. If we are indeed the Eruhin, the Children of the One, then He will not suffer Himself to be deprived of His own, not by any Enemy, not even by ourselves. This is the last foundation of __**Estel**__, which we keep even when we contemplate the End: of all His designs the issue must be for His Children's joy. __**Amdir**__ you have not, you say. Does no __**Estel**__ at all abide?" _

_- _**_Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth; HOME IV - Morgoth's Ring, JRR Tolkien_**

The problem about time travel, in the end, is that one gets very confused about one's own timeline. One might meet people out of sequence, perhaps, or have things happen out of order. You might have someone tell you something horribly important, but you may not find out why it _was_ important, until much, much later (or you could be unlucky and find out _too late_!). This happens, you see, because time, despite what you may think, does not happen in a straight line at all. E. Aster Bunnymund, as he travelled up and down his own timeline, has become all too familiar with this.

The very first time he hears that word, he is in a village somewhere in the North of the world. It is early, he thinks, in Time, but he doesn't always remember when. They are a poor people, but proud. He likes to come here, and hide small gifts for the little ones, who endure so much and still smile. On this occasion there is a man, stern and forbidding but with kind eyes, who kneels before his mother and bids her farewell.

"_Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim_" she tells him, and he goes away already grieving, but there is a strange light kindled in his eyes. Aster thinks, to himself, that it might be something like determination, maybe, or resolution (it is the face of one who sees his future and accepts its bleakness, and yet goes on irregardless and despairs not).

Once, he is passing from East to West, and he comes upon a school of the stars where he seeks shelter for the night. It is run by two old men in blue with ancient eyes, who track the path of the stars and discuss their portents with their eager students. On this occasion, one star in particular, has moved from its path, shining clear and brilliant in the west like a beacon, calling.

"For a people walking in darkness have seen a great light" says one of the old men, and the look he casts out of the window is almost… fond.

"Perhaps it is now the time of fulfilment of the Old Hope, long whispered." Says the other.

"What would it take, to mend a world broken? What price would have to be paid, to balance the scales of justice for a whole world? And who would be willing, or even _able_ to pay it?" asks the first to his students, and they murmur amongst themselves as they walk away from where Bunny rests outside the window, leaving him to wonder.

The second time, he is so far back in time that he is not entirely certain where he is. He hides in the shadows of a wise-woman's tent, and listens to her dispense wisdom to those who come to her. One, however, comes not to seek wisdom, but to share it, and he listens as they debate hope.

"This is the last foundation of _estel_, which we keep even when we contemplate the End – of all His designs the issue must be for His Children's joy. _Amdir_ you have not. Does no _estel_ abide?"

Sitting in the shadows, Aster ponders the difference between "hope based on reason" and "hope based on trust", and wonders which he has. For a certainty, he thinks, it would be better to have "hope based on trust", but it is difficult to know what (or who) to trust, when your whole world has been destroyed. Better, he thinks a little bitterly, to look to reason, and returns to hide in his warren and mourn his lost people (it will take North and Katherine and Nightlight to drag him out into the world and begin to hope again).

_"Easter is new beginnings, new life" He tells Jack, his eyes empty and choked with despair. "Easter's about hope. And now it's gone."_

Once, he visited a great city, built of white stone into the very bedrock of a mountain. Here, too, as is often the case, the children play freely, despite the danger that shadows the footsteps of their parents. It is often hard to hide gifts here, in this bright city of stone, but he enjoys the challenge. On this occasion, war has at last come knocking too close, and the white stones are stained with the blood of foe and friend alike. The children are all gone and the many of the houses are burnt to the ground. Yet despite this, hope flickers faintly through the city, in defiance of the looming foe and the hopeless situation, a flame small but unquenched – and it has its roots in one man.

"We come now to the very brink, where hope and despair are akin" the man says, and his face is stern but not despairing. "To waver is to fall." He leads his men to a war he knows he cannot win, to buy time for an errand he cannot know will succeed, and which may not save him in any case. His name, Bunnymund hears his brothers call him in private, is "_Estel_", and his men follow him because they love him, although they go to almost certain death.

_When the Guardians meet Jamie and Jack, it is not only his small size that keeps him hidden in the sleigh. Listening to Jack, and hearing Jamie's laughter, Bunnymund begins to understand how he has failed in his guardianship, and he is ashamed. Here is one who despite being so much younger, has kept believing, despite the evidence to the contrary. Here is another, who having been alone for centuries, has reached out to aid one who never reached out to him first. It is a bitter thing, he thinks to himself, that he has seen better evidence of hope in those other than himself._

He doesn't always land where he means to, in the early days when he is perfecting the art. On this occasion he has arrived to a battlefield. Men and monsters lie tangled together on blood-sodden fields, and he flinches away from a reality too close to home. A voice rises above the battle-din, fierce and unbowed, and he sees a man backed against the river by the horde. "_Aurë entuluva_!" he cries and the monsters die before his great axe, until he stands amidst a mound of them and the blade smokes with their black blood. But still they come. He is doomed, and Aster sees that he knows it, but the light in his eyes is unquenched. "Day shall come again!" He proclaims it, even as he is overwhelmed, and Aster hurries away rather than see his fall.

_There is a day when hope seems lost, and all creation mourns. There is also a day when the sun rises on an empty tomb, and Hope is justified._

His favourite place to visit in Time is a land of green rolling hills and well-tilled fields. Where a people live who enjoy comfort and good food, and better yet a good story to go with it. His favourite home there is set atop a hill beneath an old oak, and the family's many children are almost always underfoot, clamouring for stories or playing with each other or helping out with chores.

"Sam-dad, Sam-dad, read to us again!"

The father is a practical sort, full of statements like "Where there's life there's hope, and need of vittles!" but also with the most wonderful stories. He has old eyes, has the father – the eyes of one who has walked through grief and despair and beyond them, to come out all the stronger. His goodwife is bright and golden, a steady hand and a ready smile, and she sings sometimes, as she goes about her chores:

_There's a place of thirst and hunger where the roots of faith grow deep  
And there is rain and rolling thunder when the road is rough and steep  
There is hope in desperation there is victory in defeat  
Broken hearts find restoration where joy and sorrow meet_

Bunnymund comes here when he is at his lowest, to soak in the gentle joy that wraps around this family, and lean a while on the strength that comes from walking through the darkness and out the other side.

"Loosing Easter took its toll on all of us" says North. "Bunny, most of all." And hidden in the sleigh, Bunnymund finally puts together his memories of long ago and begins to understand – hope is not conquered by the darkness, for hope believes that although darkness may seem all encompassing, there is light and beauty forever beyond its reach. Hope endures, because that is what _estel_ does – it simply trusts. So he reaches again for that light, faint and faltering though it is, and hops out. He bluffs and blusters, and tries to remember what it was like to _trust_.

And when Jamie tells him how Jack helped him to keep on believing, Bunny wonders why he ever stopped.

**AN: I had two problems with Bunny's chapter – one, book vs movie are very different characters, and two… well. *points at chapter quote* I will get into the whole argument about meanings of "hope" later and what this means for how I see Bunny.**

1. …I am sorry about the Doctor Who reference. Also that tense change is deliberate yep.

2. "_Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim_" ("I gave Hope to the Dúnedain, I have kept no hope for myself") is what Gilraen says to Aragorn before she dies, after Aragorn tries to comfort her. He went away, it is said, heavy of heart but Tolkien writes of him "His face was sad yet stern for the doom that was laid on him, and yet hope dwelt ever in the depths of his heart"

3. The two old men in blue are the two Blue Wizards, Alator & Pallando, who went East and vanished out of Tolkien's tales. He supposed in his letters, that they were the founders of many of the cults of magic in the East. In this scenario – well. They are astrologers, here, and from their school in the East, they have seen a Star in the West, and they recognise the sign given (and yes, that is Earendil) – There are only two of them, but check your bibles – we are never actually told there are THREE wise men, we only assume based on the gifts.

4. Isaiah 9:2 "For a people walking in darkness have seen a great light. On those living in the land of deep darkness, a light has dawned."

5. The "Old Hope" they mention comes from the rest of Finrod's debate with Andreth, where Andreth reveals that Men carry a secret hope, an old story, that the One Himself will enter into the world and mend its hurts, although neither she nor Finrod can see how that might be so.

6. The "great city" is obviously Minas Tirith, and the line is what Aragorn declares as he makes the decision to march on the Black Gates. "Estel" is his childhood name from when they raised him in Rivendell – thus, his brothers are Elrond's twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir.

7. The battle is the _Nirnaeth Arnoediad _– the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, where the hosts of the West were betrayed and their armies slaughtered. The man is Hurin, who fought a rear guard action to allow King Turgon of Gondolin to retreat. He killed 70 trolls with that axe, and every time he slew he called aloud "Aurë entuluva! Day will come again!" Despite what Bunny thinks, Hurin was actually taken ALIVE, although doubtless he wished for death many times thereafter (_The Children of Hurin_ is seriously one of the most depressing things ever).

8. Yeah ok I had to reference the Shire and Sam, who has at once, both the _least_ hope (Tolkien says of Sam that he did not need hope because he was cheerful), and the most of any character in the Lord of the Rings. Sam's too practical to see Bunny, but no doubt his kids made sure to sneak him food if they ever saw him. The song Rosie sings is actually a MODERN one, sorry – modified slightly, the lyrics are from Avalon's "_Where Joy and Sorrow Meet_"

_RIGHT, NOW FOR A LONG DISCUSSION ON HOPE AND TOLKIEN. Feel free to skip this if you like, and if you get offended by Christian discussions on hope etc... uh, stop reading now. _

Ok, so, the biggest problem for me with Bunny boils down, in the end, to the fact that he represents Hope..._and he gives up_. Blah blah, dramatic impact, I know. But you see, _he represents hope_. Further, he represents Easter, which, as he says, is all about Hope. I bashed my head against the wall a lot here until I worked out my problem - Bunny, you see, is probably meant to represent Hope, as in what Tolkien calls 'estel', but in the movie I only see him holding hope, as in what Tolkien calls 'amdir' - _which is a whole lot more fragile _(Admitedly, the fact that Bunny is a SECULAR easter and not a Christian one doesn't help, but I digress).

See, this is the thing with Tolkien's stuff - _estel_ breathes through his work, and it comes clearest in the darkest parts of the story - he even coined a word for it - "eucatastrophe" - the sudden unexpected turn to good. For Tolkien, _amdir_ is fragile, but _estel_ is not. Amdir is based on reason - what the eyes see and the mind knows, and is therefore vulnerable to reality - _that things really_******_are_**_hopeless sometimes_. _Estel_ is based on a certainty of belief, today we Christians would say, on the certainty of Faith (this is why we celebrate Easter!), and so it may falter but fails not, indeed _estel_ is born when _amdir_ fails - 'oft hope is born when all is forlorn'. The Lord of the Rings is NOT a Christian novel. What it is, is PRE-Christian - it shows why Christianity is needed. There is, in fact, no hope in Frodo's journey - it is, as Gandalf calls it, a 'fool's hope' - and indeed, _the quest fails_. 'It is not by might nor strength but by my spirit, saith the Lord' - it is not mortal strength that succeeds in the quest, indeed, mortal strength _cannot_ succeed in the quest - "where hope and despair are akin" says Aragorn, because he sees that his cause is hopeless in his own strength. But Aragorn hopes, as Sam does, for the ultimate end - the success of Good over Evil, even if he himself does not see it, and so he goes on anyway. "Despair is for those who see clearly to the end" says Gandalf. Gandalf, of course, is a Maia, an angelic being who has walked in the Timeless Halls, and seen The One face to face - so he knows on what (or rather WHOM) his hope is based. But _none of the other characters do_ - they have no hope, save only this 'fools hope' - but they continue on anyway - and this is what is at the heart of _estel_ - to go on, irregardless - it is not optimism, or even cheerfulness. Sam sees "that there is light and beauty" forever beyond the Shadow's reach, that glimpse of divine Hope, that enables him to keep going, when all else is failed - hope not for himself, mind, for Sam never had any of that from the beginning, but hope that someday, somewhere, Good will prevail over Evil. Aragorn trusts in the hope that Gandalf and the Elves have taught him - that there is One above them whose "issue must be for His Children's joy", and goes to fight a hopeless war, where Denethor looks at the armies arrayed about him and the death of his sons and falls to despair. One had _estel_, the other, _amdir_, and where reason sees despair, trust keeps on hoping.

But _Estel_ needs a basis on which to stand, and in the pre-Christian world of Tolkien, that basis is nothing more than a whisper, a promise not yet fulfilled, because _estel_ is, in the end, a uniquely Christian hope. This is why, to a Christian, Easter and Christmas hold such value - Christmas is the incarnation, the first words of the promise, but Easter is its fulfilment. _The resurrection proves our hope_ - "if Christ is not raised, our faith is in vain" - it is the promise that indeed, we are not forsaken, even to the last, and that victory will come, even through the shadows. It is, what Tolkien called the ultimate Fairy Story - it is the one that came true.

...and all of this is all a long ramble to explain why I had such issues with Bunny and trying to reconcile him to Tolkien's world


End file.
